


Quench

by AidaRonan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Beefy Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Butt plugs worn in public, Choking, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Excessive Thirst, Facials, Hair-pulling, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sugar Daddy Steve, author knows fuck all about archeology, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: This guy, he had never met. He definitely wouldn’t have forgotten it if he had. Shaggy dishwater blond hair run through with natural golden highlights, a thick brown beard, and a body like a Mack truck made out of ribeye.“Fuck me,” Bucky gasped.“Excuse me?”Or the one where archeology intern Bucky Barnes meets actual archeologist Steve Rogers and reaches levels of thirst scientists once believed to be theoretically impossible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [And an extremely Important Visual Reference](https://twitter.com/steebadore/status/1141558336598372353) courtesy of steebadore.

The Greyhound bus dropped Bucky in Salt Flat, TX, depositing him outside a tiny white stucco building labeled “Salt Flat Cafe” in crooked black letters. At a few minutes past noon, the temperature in mid-June sat right around 90 degrees. According to Bucky’s weather app, it would hit a hundred for the first time before the end of the following week.

He hitched up his backpack and stepped inside the cafe. An older woman with gray hair thrown in a messy bun nodded at him, both hands gripping plates of burgers and fries. On her forearm, she balanced a piece of apple pie topped with ice cream.

“Just have a seat wherever you like, darling,” she said, dropping the “g” on the end of the last word.

“Actually, ma’am, I was hoping to use your phone first. Mine’s not picking up anything out here,” Bucky said. She unloaded the pie on the table closest to him, a large man in a baseball cap and flannel shirt pulling it close, fork in hand.

“You just come in on the bus, young man?”

“Yes ma’am. I was supposed to call my ride when I got close, but it didn’t exactly work out that way.”

She looked Bucky over, then met his eyes, her own narrowing just so.

“Phone’s right there next to the register. Help yourself, and then we’ll see about getting you something to eat,” she said, before heading toward the opposite side of the small dining room with the other two dishes.

Bucky awkwardly moved behind the counter, picking up the phone and pulling up the number on his seemingly useless iPhone. It rang three times before there was an answer.

“Hello,” Professor Wilson said, sounding exasperated.

“Sir, it’s James Barnes. I made it to Salt Flat. Couldn’t get a call to go through on the bus.”

“Shit. Alright. Yeah, just put that- No no, not there. Fuck. Hold on, Barnes.”

Bucky held on. Muted voices spoke on the other end of the line, but he couldn’t make out anything beyond a few scattered words.

“Still there, Barnes? It’s gonna be a good 40 minutes,” Dr. Wilson said.

“No problem. I’ll grab something to eat.”

“Cool, sounds li- no, no why would you even- Barnes, I gotta go.”

The phone clicked, and Bucky sat it back on the receiver before slipping out from behind the counter. He nodded at the old woman and made his way to a booth far from the door, sliding into it and stuffing his backpack down between his feet.

One club sandwich and order of french fries later, someone stepped up to the booth.

“James Barnes?” a voice asked, rough and deep and-

Bucky turned around and felt his soul straight-up vacate his body.

The man who stood in front of him was not Professor Sam Wilson, Ph. D.. Then again, that was a given from the start. Bucky had been in Wilson’s class. He’d been awarded one of Wilson’s coveted field internships after a stellar semester. He’d sat in a chair in Wilson’s office while he personally congratulated Bucky on the gig. Wilson never would’ve needed to ask his name.

This guy, he had never met. He definitely wouldn’t have forgotten it if he had. Shaggy dishwater blond hair run through with natural golden highlights, a thick brown beard, and a body like a Mack truck made out of ribeye.

“Fuck me,” Bucky gasped.

“Excuse me?”

“Bucky,” he covered, cheeks warming. “Everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Oh,” blond and beefy said. “I’m Dr. Rogers, but you can call me Steve.” And then he held out a hand with fingers so thick that Bucky’s inner monologue turned from actual words to pure gibberish—as though his thoughts were formed via some mental Macbook and his brain had just discovered the art of keysmashing.

Asdlfjasfj!!!

It took him a second to catch up with what the human steak-on-a-stick had actually said.

“Wait, Dr. Steve Rogers. _The_ Steve Rogers? You’re on this dig?” Bucky asked. “I’ve probably read most of your papers. And that article in _Archeology Magazine_.”

“Wilson’s a friend. He asks me to be somewhere, I show up. Including here.” Steve looked around the small cafe, and for some reason Bucky felt self-conscious, as though he had any control over the environment. “He would’ve come for you himself, but the equipment movers are… Well, we’ll just call them ‘interesting’ and leave it at that.”

Dr. Rogers smiled softly. Steve. God, how the fuck was Bucky supposed to call him Steve? Also, how had he never once seen a photo of _that_? He’d just assumed someone with that many published articles was some old white guy. Not some early to mid-30s hunk of sirloin who’d make the thirst centers of Bucky’s brain weep with want.

“Shit, sorry,” Bucky said, finally catching up with reality in some way. “You’re probably ready to go.” He slid out of the booth and grabbed his backpack. He was suddenly very self-conscious of how he looked and probably smelled after two days of bus travel.

God, why the fuck hadn’t he changed?

Moot point. Dr. Rogers was never going to destroy him like a bag of Doritos after half a bottle of vodka. He probably wouldn’t even remember Bucky’s cut off sweat pants or the faded university tee shirt he’d been handed during Welcome Week his freshman year.

Intentionally focusing his attention away from Dr. Rogers’ insanely thick biceps, Bucky dug around in his backpack for the money he’d stuffed into the bottom. He tried not to think about how little it was, and how a meal like this one would probably be a one time thing until he was back in Brooklyn. The internship was a big deal, but like everything else college-related, Bucky still had to pay for it. Only housing was included, and that was because the dig was remote enough that Wilson had gotten funds allocated for a few small trailers.

“Here, I got it,” Dr. Rogers said, nodding at the check and digging out his wallet. “Consider it an apology for you having to sit here so long. Plus, it’s always a good idea to start out on the right foot with someone you’ll be seeing every day for two months.”

Every. Day. For. Two. Months.

Bucky gave it two days before he set down his dig tools and walked right out into the Texas desert to become one with the agave. He could be some kind of Thirsty Cryptid. Local legends would tell of a college junior who met a pile of muscles so big that it physically broke something within him.

Dr. Rogers laid two twenty dollar bills on the table and jerked his head toward the door.

“Sandwich and fries is $7.99,” Bucky said, glancing at the money.

“That’s okay. I waited my way through college. It’s rough work.” Dr. Rogers held open the door for him and then dug his keys out of a pair of dust-covered jeans, his bratwurst arm muscles straining to get his hand into the ridiculously tight front pocket.

And why in the yeehaw yell the dirt on Dr. Rogers’ legs and white tee shirt somehow made him even more impossibly attractive, Bucky would never know. It was one of the mysteries of the universe, right up there with what happened in the center of a black hole and why Applebee’s was still in business in 2019.

“Shit, I meant to do that before I got out,” Dr. Rogers said, pulling open the passenger side door of an old red Suburban, also coated in dust. Leaning over the front seat, Rogers pushed together several sheafs of paper, including a few sketches of old stone tools and pottery. He gently laid the whole stack in the surprisingly clean back floorboard.

“Sorry about that,” Dr. Rogers said before turning to Bucky with a warm smile and giving the seat a little pat with his hand. “All yours.”

Bucky slid in, incredibly distressed to find that the inside of the car smelled faintly of musk and cologne. Across from him, Dr. Rogers crawled in and started the car up, Fleetwood Mac immediately blasting out of the speakers right in the middle of “Sugar Daddy.”

Dr. Rogers sang along to his playlist the entire 40 or so minutes out to the dig site—his honey voice not particularly impressive, but deep and smooth enough to make Bucky want to launch himself directly into the sun.

He was never going to make it through this internship alive.

* * *

Steve wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, flinging it onto the dirt by his feet. He unscrewed the lid of his nalgene and held it beneath the spigot of the big Igloo water cooler. This late in the day, the ice had all melted and the water was just barely the right side of cool. He poured a few drops onto his face and neck even knowing he’d need to put on more sunscreen.

A few feet away, Bucky Barnes knelt in a shallow hole, carefully digging and sifting, digging and sifting. Steve tried to focus his attention elsewhere—on Sam much farther away, gesticulating wildly to his other intern and the liaison from the reservation; on a hawk circling a squat mountain in the distance; on the beauty that was a wide blue Texas sky.

But Steve’s eyes kept roaming back to the tight denim shorts stretched over Bucky’s ass, to the sun-kissed skin of his exposed arms in his filthy white tank top, to the curls of dark chest hair plastered to his flesh where the stretched-out neck of the tank dipped down, to the dark mop or hair on his head and the way it always started to curl after a few hours of sweating out in the heat.

Steve wanted to violate him in every possible consensual way.

Fuck, he’d wanted to since he first laid eyes on him. He wanted to pull his lean, shapely legs around his waist and obliterate him like a cannon firing into a china shop. His brain supplied him with the image of just the two of them, somehow alone at the dig site, Steve pushing his pretty face against the dirt, tugging his shorts down, making him cry out like a hawk spotting prey.

“Sam,” Steve said, raising his voice so that it would carry. Bucky looked up at the noise, and Steve couldn’t help himself. He poured the rest of his water over his head, deliberately soaking his own white shirt until his body showed through. He wanted to see if he’d get some kind of reaction, and he supposed he did. Bucky whipped his head back around and focused on his work once more.

“Yeah?” Sam called back. “God, you gotta see this pottery. We’ve got three that are fully intact.”

“Can’t wait, but I’m gonna do an ice run first.”

Sam saluted him and dropped back onto the ground. Steve dug his car keys out of his jeans and turned toward his beat up Suburban. He had his hand on the door handle when inspiration struck.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said, and God what a picture Bucky made turning around, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, his skin glowing with exertion. Steve wanted to raw him like an oyster bar.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna cool off a minute?” Steve asked, and Bucky glanced Sam’s way.

“You’re allowed to take a break, pal,” Steve assured him. “Seriously, it’s too hot out here to stay out all day. Come on. That’s an order.”

Bucky licked his lips and stood up, carefully moving his tools to a nearby folding table so that he could find them when they got back.

“There ya go.” Steve smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

And damn if a shudder didn’t run through Bucky’s entire body, rippling through him from head to toe.

“Get a chill?” Steve asked, and Bucky looked at him like an armadillo in headlights.

Oh.

Oh, Steve could fucking work with that. His smile widened.

“Get in,” he said, dropping the pretense of friendly coworker altogether. Bucky swallowed, opened the door, and slid into the front seat.

* * *

It took all of two minutes to drive from the dig site to the little cluster of temporary trailers they all called home. Bucky shared his with the other intern—MJ. They stayed out of each others’ way and got along well enough.

Dr. Rogers and Dr. Wilson shared the other. The third served as a lab.

“Come,” Dr. Rogers said, and Bucky very nearly did. Right there in his filthy denim shorts. Instead he got out and followed Dr. Rogers up the concrete steps into his and Professor Wilson’s trailer. Inside, there was a clear division of space, a thick white sheet neatly tacked to the ceiling serving as a makeshift wall. There were beds on either side of it, then a small kitchen area complete with an electric range and a full-sized fridge and freezer combo. The bathroom was the only room with an actual door.

Bucky knew which side was Steve’s without even having to wonder. On the two walls that bracketed his bed like an L, there were multiple drawings taped to the plaster. Clouds, wildlife, rock formations. And plants, so many plants—agave, damianita, ocotillo.

“What do you think?” Dr. Rogers asked from behind him, his mouth so close to Bucky’s neck that he could feel the warm heat of it on his nape. Bucky’s chest rose and fell a little harder.

“They’re really good,” Bucky said. “You draw the findings too, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Dr. Rogers said, backing off. “I like the connection to the past. We have to take pictures these days. That’s just how it works. But there was a time when drawings were all archeologists had beyond the actual physical artifacts. I guess it’s a little silly, but-”

“It’s not,” Bucky said, and that wasn’t even the thirst talking. “Feeling connected to history is sort of why we get into this, isn’t it?”

“Guess so.” Dr. Rogers sank down onto the foot of his bed and reclined back, the bottom of his shirt creeping up to expose his thick, column-like waist. Bucky’s eyes fixated on it, watching the muted ripple of Steve’s muscles that came with every breath. It was a lot to take in.

“So, Bucky, how are you liking your first real dig?”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, both at the way Dr. Rogers ran his fingers back through his thick hair, and as an actual beginning of an answer. “It’s incredible, and I really like the way it’s being approached, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Rogers asked.

“Getting permission from indigenous people to dig on their historical sites, making sure they’re the ones who take possession of anything we find. I like studying the past and I think it’s important, but I don’t want to steal someone’s history from them to do it.”

“You’re making it really difficult for me to come onto you right now,” Dr. Rogers said, giving Bucky a lazy smile. “But you’re right. That’s one of the reasons I keep working with Sam and the team at the university instead of taking an offer somewhere else. If the ethics are shitty, then the money’s not worth it.”

Bucky blinked several times, too many times really. Like if there were a normal amount of times to blink in the span of ten seconds, then Bucky had exceeded said amount by at least twelve million. Give or take.

“Um.”

“You want something to drink?” Dr. Rogers asked, sitting up and heading for the fridge. He buried his entire upper body inside of it. From that angle, Bucky could see the knots of his spine through his tee shirt. “Plenty of cold water, but there’s a few Powerades in here too if you’d rather.”

“Um.”

“Water it is.” And Dr. Rogers pulled out a plastic pitcher and filled two glasses, pressing one into Bucky’s hand. “Look, I’m not your boss or your professor, but I’m not sure if you see it that way, and I wanna be sure you don’t before I keep going. Do you?”

Bucky threw back the water like a cowboy in an old western tossing back a shot of whiskey. Words. Consonants. Vowels. Arranging them into cohesive structures that communicated his thoughts to another person. How the fuck did all that work again?

“Bucky, if I try to fuck you right now, are you gonna feel like you have to let me?” Dr. Rogers asked. “Would you say no if you didn’t want me to? Because I want to stress the fact that I have no impact over you being here, and I’ll never hit on you again if you tell me to stop right now. But I’ve never wanted to put my hands on someone as much as I wanna put ‘em on you.”

Syllables. Logical ones, ideally.

“Issue isn’t,” Bucky said. And, you know what, considering the fact that Dr. Rogers was literally offering Bucky all of his depraved fantasies on a silver platter, his mouth could’ve spit out worse.

“The issue isn’t what, Bucky?”

Bucky cleared his throat.

“It’s not an issue. Me not wanting you to. Won’t, uh, Professor Wilson notice we’ve been gone quite a while?”

“Not if I sent him a text and told him I was making you stay in for a few because I thought you were looking a little pale.”

“Sent?”

“Yeah, between the car and the front door,” Dr. Rogers said. “Not an issue, huh?”

“Caught that, did you?” Bucky asked, and Dr. Rogers took the empty cup from his hand and put both glasses in the sink.

“Come here,” he said, voice so full of authority that Bucky physically squirmed. He let Dr. Rogers grab the collar of his tank and pull him across the small expanse of space between them. From there, his thick meaty fingers slipped up to wrap around Bucky’s throat.

“Open your mouth,” Dr. Rogers said, and Bucky parted his lips. At that point, Dr. Rogers didn’t so much kiss him as he attacked him, bodily backing Bucky toward his bed, fingers pressing into his pulse points, lips violently moving against Bucky’s mouth.

As blood pooled in Bucky’s head where Dr. Rogers blocked its flow with expert precision, Bucky was pretty sure he had an out of body experience. Either way, he didn’t remember actually laying down on the bed, but there he was. Dr. Rogers climbed between his thighs, moving his hand from Bucky’s neck to his hair, tugging on the curled strands.

“Fuck, you’re a pretty little thing,” Dr. Rogers said. Steve. If Bucky was going to have the guy’s dick in his mouth, ass, or even hands, he should probably learn to call him Steve.

“Unbelievably sexy.”

“That too.” Dr. Steve smirked.

“No, you, you hot bastard,” Bucky said, leaning up to try and kiss Steve again, but Steve leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Please,” Bucky gasped, mouth open and searching, like someone trying to find a straw without looking.

“Well, since you asked so nicely like a good boy.”

And Steve kissed him again, the hair around his mouth starting to burn Bucky’s lips and chin with the violence of it. Hell, what else could Steve set fire to with that beard? Bucky would happily spend the rest of his internship finding out.

Bucky groped for the hem of Steve’s shirt, no longer able to stand the idea of all that muscle being hidden by any kind of fabric. Surely, that was some kind of fucking crime. It had to be, right? Bucky was gonna look it up after they were done.

Steve knocked Bucky’s hands away but sat upright on his knees, towering over Bucky and tugging the shirt up over his head.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed reverently. Steve looked like a Greek statue—Hercules after all 12 labors—like something he could dig up somewhere, dust off, catalog, and visit in a museum of please-fuck-me. Bucky went in with both hands, raking them down Steve’s abs and thick-and-hearty obliques.

“See something you want?” Steve asked.

“Saw something I wanted in a cafe back in Salt Flat fucking Texas. Would’ve let you fuck me up against that old red beast of yours right there in the parking lot.”

“There’s a thought. Maybe we both sneak out of our trailers some night, take a little joy ride, do it hot and dirty in the middle of the desert right under that big night sky.”

“Maybe you fuck my mouth right now and we worry about the future when we get to it,” Bucky said, and Steve’s face split into a grin before he rolled off Bucky and onto his back.

“In that case, stand up and take off those slutty little shorts for me, Buck.”

Bucky stared. He imagined this was a lot how fish felt when they’d been caught and pulled into a world they’d never fucking seen before—just completely overwhelmed by everything going on around them at all times.

Orders. And ‘ _B_ _uck_.’ Why the hell was his entire body thrumming with want at being called ‘Buck’?

Steve raised both eyebrows at him, curling onto his side and supporting his head on his hand.

“Don’t make me tell you again,” Steve said, and Bucky managed to scramble off the bed, ripping open the button and zipper and shimmying his shorts down.

“Good. Shirt and underwear too. Show me that tight little body, and then we’ll talk about what you want from me.”

Like a car crashing into a textile factory, fabric flew everywhere. Bucky tossed every article a different direction until he stood in front of Steve completely nude, too keyed up to even think about the fact that Steve was seeing his body for the first time.

“My imagination did not do you justice.” Steve sat up, raking his eyes over Bucky’s body before reaching out and sliding his hands down Bucky’s sides from the top of his rib cage to the spot where his hips met his thighs. “Turn around.”

Bucky spun, chest heaving, cock so hard he thought he might pass out. Steve’s thumbs found his iliac crest, swiping out from there to run gently over the curves of Bucky’s ass. Bucky shuddered, goosebumps creeping down his arms.

Steve parted his cheeks and gave his hole one experimental lick, his tongue laving up the entire crease, lingering there, then continuing up to his spine where it traced along the knots and knobs.

“Buck, do me a favor.”

“Anything you want,” Bucky said, and he meant it. If Steve asked him to give up all his worldly possessions and then start a new life in Mexico as Bobby ‘Boots’ McMurray, he would’ve done it.

“Don’t ever fuck anybody who doesn’t appreciate how absolutely gorgeous you are. You’re too goddamn smart and fuckable to be wasted on some idiot,” Steve said, gently turning Bucky back around with his hands on his hips. “Think you can do that for me?”

Bucky slid his hands into Steve’s hair in response.

“Soft,” he said, and Steve grinned at him before grabbing one of his pillows and throwing it onto the cheap linoleum floor. Bucky didn’t have to ask why, sliding down onto his knees like a sinner praying for absolution.

Forgive me, doctor, for I have lusted.

Bucky reached for the fly of Steve’s dust-covered jeans, enraptured by the very obvious erection outlined in tight denim.

“Here, Buck,” Steve said, arching his hips up and pushing his jeans and underwear down his thick, hairy thighs. His cock was… a lot.

Average length but wide like the rest of him. Uncircumcised, pinked up tip peeking out from the foreskin. Bucky didn’t hesitate before putting his mouth on it, sliding his lips all the way down Steve’s shaft until he felt it hit the back of his throat. He gagged softly, his shoulders tensing up, drool already starting to accumulate.

Then he did it all over again.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve gasped, twisting fingers into his curls. Bucky’s scalp ached delicately, and he groaned around Steve’s length, fucking his mouth onto it, tasting the bitter salt of pre-come on his tongue and smelling the musk trapped in the wiry curls near the base. This is how Bucky wanted to live the rest of his life, how he wanted to die, how he wanted to spend the afterlife. He wanted to suck Steve’s dick, die with his mouth still on it, then suck Steve’s ghost dick for the rest of time.

“Fuck, you look good down there,” Steve said, gently forcing Bucky’s face back down again and holding him there. Bucky gripped Steve’s calves, digging his blunt nails in when the need for air overwhelmed all his other thoughts and senses. Steve got the message immediately, letting Bucky up for a few gasping breaths before doing it again.

It was intensely hot, the whole thing. Bucky’s cock leaked onto Steve’s pillowcase, his hips rocking with want and need.

“Fuck,” Steve choked out, yanking Bucky off by his hair. “Up here. Now.”

Bucky scrambled to his feet.

“How do you want me?” Bucky asked. Instead of answering, Steve stood, wrapped Bucky in his arms, and physically moved him onto the bed, hoisting him up and setting him down like he was nothing but a one pound sack of sugar.

“Jerk off,” Steve said. “I wanna watch you.”

So Bucky did, gripping his cock and stroking up and down the length.

“Have you done this before?” Steve asked. “Touched yourself thinking about me?”

“Every fucking day since we met, you unnecessarily attractive piece of shit.”

Steve laughed.

“You like fingers inside of you?”

“God, please,” Bucky blurted, still rhythmically stroking, and Steve nodded, pulling a finger into his mouth and wetting it so much that it glistened. Bucky’s body resisted the thickness of it at first, but not for long, the familiar feeling of stretch and fill making him sigh in relief.

Inside of him, Steve crooked his finger and started to work. Bucky watched Steve wrap his other hand around his own cock and slowed his strokes to match Steve’s jerky left-handed rhythm.

Time lost all meaning. Bucky lived a hundred lives. The continents drifted farther apart. Several things in his refrigerator went past their expiration dates.

Inside of him, pressure started to build into something tangible, something that-

Bucky groaned low and whorish.

“Doctor…” Bucky slurred his words together like a drunk man. “Steve. Rogers.”

“Full name and title and everything,” Steve said, letting go of his own cock and pushing Bucky’s hand out of the way. “Impressive, James Barnes.”

Bucky stared up at him, at the tendrils of long honey hair clinging to his forehead, at the Texas sky blue of his eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, his body hovering on the edge of a glorious fucking precipice. “I’m.”

Steve snapped his blue eyes to Bucky’s from where they’d been focused between Bucky’s thighs.

“Do it, Buck,” Steve ordered. “Come for me, good boy.”

It was like someone grabbing a loaded gun trigger-first. Bucky cried out, fisting Steve’s sheets and throwing his head back. Come streaked out onto Bucky’s stomach and chest, then flowed up and over, coating Steve’s thick sun-kissed fingers.

Steve didn’t stop stroking until Bucky ran dry. Then he met Bucky’s eyes and licked every digit clean before moving his tongue onto Bucky’s torso, dragging it across every wayward streak.

“Jesus,” Bucky said.

“Sit up and open your mouth” Steve said, and Bucky obeyed. “Just hit me or something if I get too rough.” And Steve moved to his full height on his knees and pulled Bucky’s face down onto his cock, fucking into it with abandon.

It wasn’t too rough. It was gloriously filthy, and when Steve groaned from somewhere deep in his throat and filled Bucky’s mouth with come, he greedily swallowed down every single drop of it before falling back onto Steve’s mattress, pillowing his head on his forearm.

Steve collapsed next to him, his vast, hairy chest heaving.

They stayed like that in silence for a while before Bucky started laughing, quietly at first and then louder. The bed shook with it.

“You okay over there, Buck?”

“Earlier when you poured that water all over yourself, I thought like, ‘Great. I’ve still got six more weeks of this hot asshole and his hot bullshit. But you know, whatever, because I’m probably gonna pull my own dick off long before that and bleed out in the shower.’ But you just railed me like a new subway line, and now I’m realizing I’ve got six more weeks of _this_ bullshit, and I’ll probably still die just because there’s only so much thirst one guy can handle before his soul leaps right off the mortal coil, but at least I’ll probably die actually having sex with you,” Bucky said. “I can think of worst ways to go. If you could make up a better story for my ma though, I’d sure appreciate it. Tell her I saved a bus full of orphans from a herd of stampeding rattlesnakes.”

Steve took all that in, laughing quietly beside Bucky, his sculpted shoulders bouncing. Then he reached over and rested his hand on Bucky’s stomach without saying anything for quite some time.

“We should probably get that ice,” Steve said when he finally spoke. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before he stood up and reached for his jeans.

“Probably.” Bucky stood up too.

“I’m gonna make a town run tomorrow. Spit’s one thing when it’s one finger and not a lot of in and out friction. But if I’m gonna bury myself in that tight little ass of yours and fuck you until you ‘Dr. Steve Rogers’ me again, I’m gonna need something better than that.” And then Steve gave Bucky a blink-and-you-miss it shit-eating grin before picking up his stretched out tank top and tossing it at his chest.

By the time Bucky wriggled back into his shorts, Steve had a bag full of ice and the keys to the Suburban in his hands.

* * *

The stars at night really were big and bright deep in the heart of Texas. Every time Steve threw his head back, he could see the vast swaths of stars and cosmic dust that made up the milk of the Milky Way. Or he might’ve seen it if he could actually focus on anything but Bucky’s taut little body pressed between him and the Suburban, his bare thighs wrapped tightly around Steve’s waist.

Miles from them, a coyote howled up at the crescent-shaped sliver that was the moon.

There in a piece of remote Texas desert, Bucky howled too. Steve answered him in kind.


	2. Chapter 2

They got a whole week off surrounding the Fourth. Bucky knew it was coming. It had been on the schedule Wilson sent him for the dig, a known variable long before he’d ever gotten on a bus. Before he and Steve started fucking, he’d figured on spending it there in the trailer reading and eating Top Ramen.

But he and Steve had started fucking, which meant that about a week prior to the start of this little vacation, Steve had railed Bucky so hard that he swore he saw gods for religions that didn’t even exist, and then he’d fallen beside Bucky on his bed, looked at him, and softly rumbled out, “You should pack a bag for next week.”

So Bucky had packed a bag. And now he sat in the passenger seat of Steve’s big red monster, hurtling somewhere down the I-10.

“Where are we going?” Bucky yawned. Because not only had Steve made him pack this bag, he’d also woken him up at 5 in the goddamned morning. Granted, MJ was already gone, so he’d woken Bucky up by softly shaking him and then offering to get his blood going with a combo rimjob-blowjob-finger session so good that Bucky swore he somehow projected come into the astral plane.

“Two somewheres,” Steve said. “Somewhere one is going to be a place we can watch some great fireworks. I’ve got us a hotel room. Three days, two nights of no roommates and no Sam giving me that look when I ask if I can have the place to myself for a few hours. I’m going to finally get to take my time with you, take you apart piece by piece how I wanna. How’s that sound?”

“If you don’t want me to jerk off onto your dash, you’d better shut up is how it sounds.”

Steve didn’t throw back a retort, but Bucky saw the corners of his mouth go wide, his eyes creasing at the corners. God he looked good, even in what Bucky assumed were road trip clothes—a plain white shirt and short navy cotton shorts. Bucky couldn’t stop staring at where they ended, at the various curves and lines that made up Steve’s monumental thighs. And lower than that, his suntanned calves. Bucky knew all about thighs like tree trunks, but _calves_ like tree trunks? All thick from the curve below his knees to the girth of his ankles? Fucking infuriating.

Steve kept talking.

“Somewhere number two, well, it’s something I really wanna do, but I figure I’ll enjoy it more with you. Waiting until after the holiday weekend though so maybe the crowds will have headed home.”

“That’s all very vague, Steve. I think you owe a guy a little more than that when he had to get up before dawn.”

“You want me to pull over and blow you? Would that make you feel better about it, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Well, probably, but you could just actually tell me where we’re going.”

“San Antonio then Padre Island,” Steve said, glancing at the sign for the next exit and then down at his dash.

“Holy shit. Steve, are we going to the Alamo? Isn’t there a place there where there’s plexiglass in the floor and they’ve removed the soil layers down to 1836.”

“You think we’d get arrested if we fucked at the Alamo?” Steve teased, and Bucky huffed.

“You are the worst archeologist in history. I can’t believe you’re on this dig. I can’t believe Wilson respects you. I can’t believe _I_ respect you.”

Steve laughed gently, his entire massive upper body moving with it, his back and arm muscles visibly shifting within his stupid white shirt.

“Yes, Buck, we’re going to the Alamo. Tomorrow is a big history tour, promise.”

“And tonight for the holiday?”

“Guess you’ll find out, but I think you can guess at how it ends.”

Bucky shook his head and settled back against the passenger seat headrest, throwing one foot up on Steve’s dash.

“Wake me up at lunch. Or when you wanna crawl in the backseat and violate me. Your choice.”

Steve reached over and gave Bucky’s thigh a squeeze that went right to his dick.

“You’ll get violated plenty today, Buck, don’t worry. Rest up.”

Bucky smiled and closed his eyes.

* * *

Steve pulled into the parking lot of their hotel a little before 5 p.m., handing the valet the keys to a car that seemed to stick out like a sore thumb among the newer models lined up to be parked. None of them were overly fancy, but compared to a 2019 Toyota Rav 4, Steve’s still had a lot of… character.

It was Texas though—casual and laid back in a way that felt easy—so inside there were plenty of people walking around in leggings and cotton shorts like Steve’s. Bucky looked even more normal in his cuffed denim shorts and tank top.

Steve smiled and thanked the woman working the front desk, then turned around to find Bucky sprawled over a leather lobby chair, his and Steve’s backpacks on the floor next to it. Bucky wasn’t doing anything in particular, just playing around on his phone with his brow furrowed slightly, but he still looked so incredibly hot that it made something feral in Steve hum low.

Steve checked his watch.

“C’mon. Dinner reservation isn’t until 7:30. Let’s go see how soft the bed is.”

“You bastard,” Bucky said softly, waving his phone in Steve’s direction. Steve raised one eyebrow and Bucky plowed on. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Um.” Steve picked up his backpack and Bucky’s too, slinging them each over one of his shoulders.

Bucky got up off the chair and followed him toward the bank of elevators, muttering at him the whole way.

“Have to find out from Dr. Wilson. Unbelievable.”

When the elevator doors closed, Steve leaned casually against the wall and looked at him.

“Your honor, what am I being accused of here?” Steve asked, _almost_ not nervous about it. He’d never said anything shitty about Bucky or cheated on him, not that they were really officially together in the sense that they even could cheat on each other. Could they? But even if they could, Steve hadn’t. Who would he have cheated with anyway? And what could anyone give him that was better than Bucky Barnes and that cute little dimpled chin and perfect sense of humor?

“It’s your goddamned birthday, you overlarge asshole,” Bucky said, giving his shin a playful tap with the toe of his shoe.

“Oh. That.”

“Were you gonna tell me? I didn’t get you anything.”

Steve raked his eyes down Bucky’s frame just to watch him squirm.

“I think you got me plenty, Buck.”

“Yeah, but, I get you that all the time.” Bucky pouted, following Steve off the elevator and down the hall to their suite. Steve dropped both their backpacks on the floor and maneuvered Bucky onto the bed without Bucky missing a beat, pliantly following the gentle nudge of Steve’s hand on his upper back.

“Honestly, Bucky, a vacation and getting to do whatever I want to you without interruption? What else could I want really?”

“I don’t know, Steve, what else could you want?” Bucky asked, looking at him intently, both of his brows migrating toward his hairline.

“You’re adorable, Buck. You know what would be more adorable?”

“Me presenting you with an incredible birthday gift that falls somewhere in the range of $20 or less?” Bucky asked.

“Nudity is free.”

“Steve.”

“They don’t call it Buck naked for nothing.”

“Fuck off, that was terrible,” Bucky said, but he rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottom hem of his tank top, pulling it up over his head and tossing it away where it landed on a chaise lounge near the window. “Jesus, this room is nice.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve crawled onto the bed and knee-walked between Bucky’s legs, reaching for the button on his shorts. Bucky casually batted his hand away.

“You worry about getting yourself naked, Steve. I’m sucking your dick. It’s your birthday.”

“But I wanna see that pert little ass before I violate it, Buck.”

“And I wanna choke on this until I suffocate,” Bucky said, reaching over and squeezing him through the thin cotton of his shorts, kneading firmly up and down Steve’s length until he shuddered.

“Point taken.” Steve slid off the side of the bed, pulling clothes off. Bucky slid off too, backing him against the wall. Christ, Bucky was a pushy little sub sometimes, but he’d never seen him quite this assertive. He didn’t exactly hate it.

He hated it even less when Bucky slid down onto the floor and took him deep into his mouth in one go.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped, both of his fingers burying themselves in Bucky’s short curls. They were getting longer every day, quickly becoming a messy tangle of brown wisps atop Bucky’s head, and every time Steve saw them or touched them, it felt like the universe was giving him an extremely personalized gift.

Bucky took him deep, gagging brutally, drool already dripping onto the carpet by Steve’s feet.

“Buck slow down,” Steve gasped, his brain so scrambled by how good it felt that he couldn’t do much but hold on and take it. “Buck.”

And then, on his knees before him, the hottest little bastard Steve had ever met…. Started to hum “Happy Birthday” around his dick.

Worse, it felt fucking good, the vibrations traveling up his length and rumbling through his balls. For all that he wanted to yank Bucky off by the hair and spank him and finger him until he sobbed—for all that he wanted to punish him in the best possible way for the audacity of thinking this was okay or funny, Steve couldn’t do anything but cry out.

“Why?” Steve wheezed, slapping one palm against the wall. Bucky finally pulled back, leaving his hand on Steve’s dick, jerking him while he finished the song.

“ _And many more_ ,” Bucky sang out, and Steve hated himself and Bucky too when he started to come, Bucky jolting with the shock of it and slamming his eyes shut while Steve pulsed and pulsed onto his face.

“You have,” Steve panted, “no idea how much you’re going to pay for that.”

Bucky flicked one of his eyebrows upwards in a playful challenge, then fell back on the plush duvet. Steve stared at him, those denim shorts tenting obviously, his upper body lean and lithe. He’d put on a little muscle from the dig, and he had a pretty solid tan on his arms and shoulders, the rest of his skin stained with the pale outline of his tank tops.

“You still want my shorts off?” Bucky asked, wiping at his face with his hand and licking it clean.

“You know what, I think I do.” Steve caught his breath and found his backpack, digging around his clothes for a small black faux leather bag. He tossed it on the bed next to Bucky who glanced at it and then at Steve. He was good and naked now, his pretty cock hard and pink.

“Go ahead and turn over. You can put that pretty little ass in the air for me.”

Bucky smiled and rolled, shifting until he had his ass on display, his thighs spread slightly and his upper half resting casually on his elbows so that his whole back bowed. Like this, Steve could see everything. He unzipped the bag, pulling out a bottle of lube and a black silicone plug about the size of a large clementine at its widest point.

“This okay?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded.

He took it slow, lubing it up. He pressed the tapered end against him, worked it in slightly, then pulled out. Then he did it again. When he’d opened up Bucky enough to fit a finger, he slipped it in and fucked into his hole with it. Bucky squirmed, trying to get Steve to that just-right angle, but Steve tutted at him and smacked him on the ass.

“Stay still.”

It took what had to be a quarter of an hour of working and playful fingering for Steve to push the plug all the way in past Bucky’s rim of muscles and seat the round base against his hole.

“So here’s the deal, Buck. I wanted to have you before dinner. I wanted to lick your nasty little hole until you begged me for it, and then I wanted to put my cock in there, feel your hot tight little body around me while I fucked us both into a frenzy.”

Bucky shuddered out a breath.

“But you couldn’t behave yourself. You were so so bad, Bucky. So now you have to wear this until I’m ready to have that hole. Understand?”

Bucky nodded. “I understand.”

“And you’re gonna help me get ready.” Steve settled onto the soft covers and got comfortable on the pillows, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. He took his time finding something halfway-decent to watch on PBS, all the while pretending not to notice Bucky squirming next to him, seeking out even a fleeting brush of pleasure from the plug seated inside his body.

Steve put the remote down and focused on him.

“Put your mouth on me. Don’t do anything else. Don’t suck it. Don’t lick it. Don’t you dare gag on it, you pretty little cock whore. Just hold it there in that warm, wet mouth of yours until you feel it getting hard again. Got that?”

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Bucky said, his hips stuttering out into the air.

“Answer the question, Bucky.”

“I got it. Can you turn it up a little bit though?” Bucky asked, jerking his head at the television. “This is a good one.”

Steve had to fight back a grin, biting down on his bottom lip. God, this little shit.

“I’ll turn it up when you’ve done as your told,” he said, clenching his jaw to keep from laughing. Slowly, Bucky moved himself down the bed. Exactly as Steve instructed, he took his soft cock into his mouth, resting his head on Steve’s body where he could watch the show at the same time.

It was a good one—a special on mankind’s relationships with the stars throughout history. Steve caught one out of every twenty words, watching Bucky’s body move with every careful breath taken through his nose. His mouth really was so warm and so wet, watering around Steve’s cock. Bucky let it water, drool leaking out and running down Steve’s balls onto the covers below.

Christ, Steve was going to leave an exorbitant tip for the housekeeping staff.

“You’re doing so good, Buck,” Steve said, petting his back and shoulder. “Look at you following instructions for me. You keep going, and I’m gonna make you come so much. Gonna take that body of yours and do everything I can to make it feel good. That’s what good boys like you deserve, huh?”

Bucky squirmed, and Steve felt the slightest bit of movement on his cock, just enough to tease. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Steve said, slowly bending his upper body so that he had access to the plug seated inside of Bucky. He pressed against it with his fingers, and Bucky made a noise of surprise around him, the sound enough to start the blood flowing back into Steve’s cock.

“Easy,” Steve said. “Just let it get hard in your mouth.” He pressed on the plug again, then ran his finger around the base, brushing it against the sensitive skin. Bucky shuddered and moaned. With a firm grip, Steve pulled on the plug just so, watching the way that Bucky’s body resisted letting it go. Holding tight to the base, he forced it to angle, moving it just so within Bucky without making to pull it out.

Around his now-hard cock, Bucky’s noises grew more desperate.

“You want me to fuck you, Bucky? You wanna crawl on top of me and take what you need?”

Bucky pulled off his dick.

“Jesus, Steve, please.”

“Did I tell you to stop?” Steve asked.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “But I need it so bad, Stevie. I need you.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, gripping the plug and easing it out. He sat it on the bedside table. “Come up here and show me how much.”

* * *

Bucky mounted him faster than he’d ever mounted anything. He mounted him like a trick rider in a rodeo, like a museum curator desperately hanging art for an exhibit opening tomorrow, like a needy little slut who needs a cock in him or else he’ll die.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” Steve said, his long head of honey-blond hair falling back onto the pillow, mouth gaping open. And Bucky rode him, Steve’s hands gripping his thighs so tight that Bucky could feel them burn.

Steve was so hot beneath him. So unbelievably hot with that thick muscular body—not Hollywood muscles either—a real body meant to be used. And Bucky was gonna use it. He was gonna use it and let Steve use him back until both of them were coming in and all over each other.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, his head thrown back so that he said it to the ceiling. Steve tightened his grip, and Bucky knew he was gonna have finger-shaped bruises on his skin by the time they were through. He could stop him. He could tell him to ease up and Steve would.

But why in the whole fuck would Bucky want him to do that?

Steve shifted, planting his heels onto the bed behind Bucky and leveraging himself so that he could thrust up, meeting Bucky where he moved up and down on his cock.

“Christ, fuck me,” Bucky said. “Just take me, Steve. Take everything.”

Steve growled, quickly sitting up and gripping Bucky so tight. All those massive muscles in his biceps and back and core worked together, and he moved Bucky like he was a slip of rice paper caught in a breeze, slamming him onto his back and burying himself inside of him again with fervor.

Bucky’s calves ended up perched on his massive shoulders, Steve pushing in and pushing in and-

“Oh _God_.”

“You gonna come, Buck? Gonna come all over yourself like the filthy little fuck I know you can be?”

Bucky shook, the pressure inside of him so much that he felt like a can of spray paint tossed into a campfire. He reached up and grabbed at Steve’s hair with both hands, Steve’s mouth falling open.

A loud groan followed, Bucky’s cock pulsing out come that streaked across Steve’s massive hair-covered belly and then his own. Steve kept fucking him, his grip on Bucky’s hips brutally strong, his breaths coming out in erratic huffs.

Bucky squirmed and whined. “Too much, too much, too-”

Steve’s groan was gruff and throaty, that glorious sound that haunted all of Bucky’s best fantasies and wet dreams. He spilled inside of him, pulling out and spilling more onto the hair of Bucky’s thighs. When he finished, he collapsed next to Bucky on the bed, pulled his face to his, and kissed him dirty. Between his legs, Bucky felt fucked-open and wet and disgusting. He kissed Steve back with an equal enthusiasm, both of them grabbing and pulling at each others’ hair.

“Fuck,” Steve said, falling onto the bed again and smiling. Christ, he had such a pretty face.

“Fuck,” Bucky echoed, laughing softly. “You wanna know something, birthday boy?”

“Hmm?”

“I can feel your come running out of my ass.”

“Such a good boy telling me that, Buck. Fuck. You wanna know something back?” Steve asked.

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna make you wear the plug to dinner. You’re gonna look so nice sweating across from me.”

Bucky turned his head and found Steve looking at him softly. He reached out and pushed Bucky’s curls back with his hand.

“I hope I can wear shorts and a tank top to this place, Steve.”

“You can’t.” Steve smiled. “But don’t worry about that. Go get a shower started for us. I’ll get our clothes laid out.”

Bucky knew enough by now not to argue with Steve. He’d tried a few times when Steve drove them both to El Paso or Carlsbad for a nice dinner or a day out. In the end, he’d learned to accept that Steve got off on taking care of him. It’s not like Bucky was suffering for it.

In the shower, Steve joined him, the two of them kissing softly and soaping each other up. When Bucky got hard again, Steve licked into his mouth tenderly, holding him up and jerking him off onto his own hip. He washed Bucky’s hair after, stroking shampoo through his curls and tilting his head back into the spray while he mouthed at his jaw and Adam’s apple.

Outside of the bathroom, Steve had set out two outfits on the bed, one way too small to fit his musculature. It wasn’t anything overly formal, just a pair of nice skinny jeans and a subtly sheer button-down black shirt covered in a pink-white cherry blossom print.

Bucky glanced over at his ratty slip-on shoes propped against the wall and wished they were at least clean. Maybe he could give them a good wipe down in the bathroom.

“Oh, almost forgot,” Steve said, digging in his backpack for a pair of plain slip-on black shoes. Nothing fancy, but in vastly better shape. “Those are the kind you like, right?”

“I cannot believe you got me presents on your birthday.”

Steve shook his head, pulling on his brown boots. It was in that moment that Bucky realized he hadn’t stopped to pay attention to Steve, who was also on his way to being some semblance of dressed up for the evening. His jeans weren’t skinnies, but it was impossible for any pair of pants not to hug the hell out of thighs that big. It looked like Steve was smuggling two large watermelons. He had on a gray denim button-down as well, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the space between two buttons gaping where the shirt struggled against the pull of his ham hock pectorals.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve said, looking at him with a crooked smile. “Go look at yourself in the mirror and tell me how much those presents are really for you.”

Smiling still, Steve got up off the bed and walked toward him, cupping Bucky’s jaw with one of his massive hands and sliding his thumb across his bottom lip. He followed that motion with a gentle kiss and a playful squeeze of Bucky’s ass.

“C’mon, buddy. Let’s get that plug in you.”

* * *

Steve found out quickly that there was a trick to treating Bucky to a ridiculously expensive dinner without him blanching too much over the prices, and that trick was to have him make it through that dinner with a butt plug firmly seated in his asshole.

The two of them sat in the Chart House restaurant at the top of the Tower of the Americas, their table right next to a window, the entire floor revolving slowly so that the city of San Antonio slowly spun below them. Bucky did magnificently well considering, only squirming and sweating a little bit while they ordered drinks and shared oysters.

Outside, the sky went from blue to orange and pink and then finally to a pale navy, night so close that the entire room was charged with the feeling of anticipation.

“Oh by the way, you evil beefsack,” Bucky said. “I got you something.”

He handed Steve a tiny present wrapped terribly in a few tissues. Steve unwrapped it. Two plain chocolate bars, a hotel pen, and a note written on hotel stationery.

_Happy birthday, Stevie, you big asshole. Xoxo Buck_

Something in Steve turned sideways, and he smiled warmly at Bucky across the table, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tight.

“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

And that’s when it started, fireworks from all over the city visible from the top of the tower. There were quiet noises of appreciation from all over the restaurant. Steve turned his head toward the window, half-watching the distant explosions, and half-watching Bucky’s reflection.

He didn’t let go of his hand.

Later, back at the hotel, Steve laid him down on the bed, kissing him tenderly while he freed him from his new outfit. When the plug came out, Steve slipped easily into the empty space, covering Bucky’s body with his and rolling them together.

They were two waves, meeting and combining—constructive interference amplifying every crest.

It was softer than Steve had meant it to be when they left for the evening—Steve couldn’t keep his mouth off of Bucky’s beautiful face, off his neck, off the sharp lines of his collarbones. He couldn’t give up staring down into his eyes long enough to turn him over, couldn’t give up being pressed this close to shift them into some other position.

When Bucky came, Steve came too, one set of hands buried in each others’ hair, the other set wound together tightly on the sheets.

Bone-deep satisfied with the course of the afternoon and evening, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s, curled around him, and waited to drift off.

“Happy birthday again, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, his voice slurring with exhaustion. Steve wasn’t even sure Bucky would remember saying it in the morning.

Steve, however, would likely never forget it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I've got you here and we're all thirsting over this large beef Steve, I feel like it's important that I mention why the film that inspired the concept [is problematic.](https://twitter.com/comradebucky/status/1136486332065308672?s=20) You can see it if you choose to, but see it as someone who is informed about the messages the film is trying to sell. The thread I linked to is a good starting point to understanding why the narratives of RSDR are potentially harmful. As always, do your own research and draw your own conclusions. 
> 
> Anyway, find me [ if you want.](https://twitter.com/BiStarBucky)


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